"So, shall I go?"
"..."
Jiraiya fell silent and said nothing more.
The autumn night was a little chilly. The moon was full, and its light fell like a veil of gauze, soft and delicate, yet tugging at the heartstrings.
"I'm sorry..."
Jiraiya gripped the wine flask, turned his head away, and mumbled.
Plink.
A drop of water fell into the bottom of the empty flask with a dull sound.
Then came a patter like light rain.
It was Jiraiya's tears falling into the flask.
"I lied... I can't let it go. I'll never be able to let it go..."
"Whether it's being a burden to Big Brother or killing you with my own hands... I really can't ever forgive myself..."
"I really... can't let it go..."
He choked back sobs and bit his lip, the tears on his face dripping into the flask.
His tears mingled with the few drops of wine at the bottom, pooling into a bitter brew. It reflected the luminous moonlight overhead, only for fresh tears to stir it into shattered halos.
Perhaps some things never faded with time. They merely fermented into a jar of bitter wine in the long river of years.
Self-blame and guilt sealed the jar, and a young boy's vitality drowned within it.
But what could let someone grow up without pain?
Advice, warnings, or lectures?
Watanabe Ichiro let out a long sigh, reached out to stroke his head, and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"You can lean on me for a while, but don't wipe your snot on me."
Hearing those words, Jiraiya recalled his futile attempts earlier that day. But perhaps the moonlight on this death anniversary was simply too cold. He couldn't resist the temptation and leaned over.
Instead of the cold ground he had expected,